


Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

by cheshirecat101



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Bisexual Female Character, Engagement, F/F, Fake Character Death, Female Relationships, Femslash, Lesbian Irene, Lesbian Sex, Multi, Non-Graphic Smut, One Night Stands, Returning Home, adlolly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirecat101/pseuds/cheshirecat101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After two years of being away, Irene decides to come back from the dead. This leads to the most awkward dinner in existence between her, Molly, and Tom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> So I can take absolutely no credit for this idea; I've had a hankering to write Adlolly outside of the Inception AU for a long time and was skyping with my Mystrade writing soulmate Mazi (EyeofMazikeen) and she told me about this idea and how hilarious it would be. I had no intentions of writing it and then the next day dialogue started popping into my head and so she graciously handed it over to me. I originally wanted to title it 'Do or Die' after the 3OH!3 song by the same name because I was listening to it on repeat while working on this, but the actual title is so much more appropriate. So yeah, I sincerely hope you enjoy, because I am quickly becoming obsessed with this pairing.
> 
> And, of course, this is dedicated to my lovely Mazi for being the amazing person she is, and for letting me hijack her idea. <3

This was easily the most awkward dinner she’d ever been to. Not that she had much to compare it to, but then again, she had had dinners consisting of crisps from the machine at Bart’s with Sherlock as she tried desperately to find a way to not trip over her own tongue, Sherlock meanwhile making offhand comments about her appearance and general level of intelligence that weren’t designed to hurt, but did all the same. This topped that by far.

First of all, Tom was awkward by nature, so his way of handling the situation was to be even more awkward than usual, his gaze going between the two women, his mouth occasionally opening to say something before he thought better of it and closed it again.

Irene, for her part, was just keeping her eyes fixed on Molly’s, a small smile toying with those blood red lips. She looked the most relaxed out of the three of them, and Molly was sure it was from confidence about the situation being resolved in her favor. Bullocks if she thought Molly was going to be that easy to win over.

She was already making that clear, glaring back at Irene as the other woman practically _smirked_ at her. Sometimes Irene reminded her too much of Sherlock. Lovely, that arrogant and extremely intelligent was her type. “I suppose I should have told you that I wasn’t dead,” Irene said, breaking the silence that had existed nearly since they’d entered the restaurant.

“Oh, d’you think?” Molly asked with her eyebrows raised, not quite snapping at the other woman.

“I didn’t think you’d care so much,” Irene said, a gleam in her eyes that told Molly exactly how pleased she was to find this out. “Miss me?”

“I have a fiancé, thank you very much,” Molly said, even though she knew that was a deflection and not actually answering the question. Irene knew it too, judging by the way those blood red lips lifted further up at the corners.

The two of them faced off again, Irene with satisfaction on her face and Molly with a quiet rage on hers. This time Tom dared to break the silence after a few minutes, starting, “You know, we could always—”

Irene cut him off almost instantly. “Gay, Tom. I didn’t come back for Molly and company, I just came back for her.”

“Came back for…m-me?” Molly asked, the surprise she felt written across her features and in her tone for Irene to read.

Irene’s response was another smile.

 

_Hands with blood red nails tugging her skirt up as she was pressed back against the wall, trying to catch her breath. The other woman wouldn’t let her, kissing her with a fervor she wasn’t sure anyone else had ever shown towards her before. Her face was getting covered in red lipstick, she knew that, but she couldn’t really be bothered to care at the moment, not when a hand was slipping up her thigh to the thin fabric of her panties and—_ oh.

_“Do you always wear lace or is it just my lucky day?” Irene’s voice purred in her ear as if she didn’t currently have her entire hand up Molly’s skirt and wasn’t moving it in a way that had Molly’s hips rolling against her as her breath caught in her throat. “Then again, good girls do always wear the naughtiest things, don’t they?”_

“We both know how this ends, lovely,” Irene said after a minute, leaning back almost casually in her chair, and Molly nearly jumped out of her skin at the touch of one high-heeled foot dragging itself lightly up her calf. She folded her legs closer to herself in response, feet going under her chair. Irene’s smile didn’t waver in the slightest; if anything, it grew. “Be honest with yourself; you’d much rather have me in your bed than him.”

“Actually, technically it’s our bed, but if you wanted—”

“Shut up, Tom,” both women said at the same time, and he wisely did as he was told, taking a nervous sip of his glass of water.

The problem, Molly knew, was that it was hard to ignore what Irene was saying when she looked as good as she did. Kitted out in a black dress, smooth satin up to a line above her bust, at which point it turned into lace, black, swirling lace that crawled partway up her throat and partway down her arms. It looked almost obscenely good, the delicate ebony patterns contrasting sharply against porcelain skin and that dark red hair. At least it wasn’t as bad as it had been when she’d first walked into the restaurant, when Molly had been able to see the whole thing in motion. Irene had a talent for wearing things that made her seem unbelievably sexy while still maintaining a certain level of class. As such, the dress wasn’t particularly revealing, but hugged her curves in all the right places and when combined with those goddamn high heels…Why did the Woman have to be so bloody attractive? She could have worn something different, anything different, but no. Straight to high class and gorgeous. Molly paled by comparison, in her own opinion. And she would definitely never be able to wear heels that high. Jesus.

“Besides,” Irene said with a half sigh, turning her eyes to her water glass before flicking them back up to Molly’s. “You were the one that left that morning.”

“I had to go to work!” Molly instantly protested. “I came back later to find you gone and your number in my phone, but you never responded to any of my texts, you never—” She stopped, faltering, as she realized what she was saying and how she was saying it. There was a silence over the table during which she could feel Tom looking at her but was too busy focusing on Irene, whose blue eyes were nearly magnetic to her. Finally she managed to blink them away, refocusing on her water glass as she said nearly weakly, “I’m not gay.”

Irene’s eye roll was truly something to behold. “Oh please, are you John Watson now?”

“John is m—”

“Yes, I know all about that. But attraction is attraction, and I know it when I see it. He and Sherlock Holmes are dripping with it for each other, and you, my dear, have as much of it towards me as I do towards you.”

 

_She had no idea how they’d gotten to her bedroom. She’d slid with her back against the wall, leading the way while connected at the lips to Irene, who had removed her hand for the time being so she could strip off Molly’s cardigan and underlying shirt, only satisfied when she could see the peach and cream lace of her bra and a swathe of creamy pale skin. Before she knew it, Irene was pushing her onto the bed, those sinful hands going behind herself as she unzipped one of her far too pretty, far too alluring dresses and let it pool around her ankles, stepping out of it as she crawled back onto the bed. The sight of Irene out of her clothing nearly stopped her heart; all she could see was black satin and garters that held up her black, Cuban-heeled stockings, the one with lines that led the eye straight up from those ridiculous (sexy) high heels all the way to—well, previously to up her skirt and out of sight. Now she could see where they ended and the garters and stockings and the panties and the bra and Jesus—Irene was pulling off her skirt, Molly barely able to put together enough sense to lift her hips up and unzip it with one fumbling hand before Irene had it off and it landed off the bed near her own discarded dress. The bras were next, Molly getting to Irene’s first and taking it off with little difficulty, the redhead slipping it off her shoulders before unhooking Molly’s and pulling it off nearly impatiently as she straddled the other woman’s hips. Then her lips, oh god, her lips (and tongue and fucking_ teeth _) were traveling down Molly’s neck to her breasts and Molly felt her heart stop._

 

She was trying to think of something to say, some way to come back from that accusation as her fiancé stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. Unable to decide on anything because her mind was unhelpfully blank, she settled for retreat. “Excuse me,” she said, a touch of hostility in her voice as she stood up, putting her napkin down on the table.

“Where are you going?” Tom asked, bewildered and at least seven steps behind in the conversation.

“She’s going to the restroom and I’m coming with,” Irene said, moving to stand, but Molly stopped her instantly with, “ _No_. I am going to the restroom alone, and neither of you are going to follow me. I just—I just need to be away. From both of you.” Irene honestly looked impressed by the amount of authority in her voice, while Tom just looked confused as to why he was being punished when he’d hardly said anything at all. She turned her back on both of them, walking determinedly to the restroom with her hands clenched into fists at her side because this was all too much to deal with.

Some cold water on her face in the bathroom was helpful in subduing her flush, her eyes on her reflection as she dabbed it all off with a paper towel. She didn’t even know what she was doing. Or what she should do. It should’ve been an easy decision, right? Irene was a onetime encounter, and then she’d disappeared and Molly had thought she was dead for two years until she got a text that said simply, ‘Dinner?’ Funnily enough, the first reaction she had to that text was relief, though anger was quickly on its heels. Why was this even a decision? She’d known Irene for such a short period and it had just been once and she didn’t even like girls.

Besides, she’d been engaged to Tom for a while now. He was nice. Very domestic. They’d met each other’s families, hung out with friends…he was a stable point in her life. They’d known each other for a good amount of time, everything was going smoothly, and again, she was _engaged_ to him. No, this wasn’t a decision, because Irene had already made that choice for her by leaving like that. God, she had to get herself together. It had been one night with Irene. One night. And yet the things she’d said…

 

_“You have no idea how stunning you are,” Irene said between kisses along Molly’s stomach and ribs, and then her mouth was traveling back upwards and_ Jesus _. Molly’s back arched off the bed as Irene’s hand went to her other breast, slowly massaging it as if it wasn’t enough that she was sucking on the other one and grazing her teeth gently across her nipple. Suddenly there was no air in the room and Molly couldn’t even find it in herself to care, hands instantly trying to go to Irene’s hair to hold her in place. Irene caught her wrists, pinning them down by her sides as she kissed down her stomach, pausing at the waistband of her panties. Before Molly realized what she was doing, she bit onto the fabric and began to pull her panties off with her teeth, her eyes dark enough that Molly shivered when their gazes locked. When her panties were off enough Irene used her hands, pulling them entirely free and tossing them somewhere that Molly didn’t care about, because the Woman was bending down to kiss at her hipbones as she said, “I’d treat you like the queen that you are. You deserve to be treasured, Molly, and god how I’d pamper you.” And then her lips traveled down and her tongue was engaged in much more important things than talking, at least in Molly’s mind._

Right. Okay. She could do this. At least, she thought she could. Who knew. She went back into the restaurant, surprised when she saw Tom leaving through the front door, Irene sitting smugly at their table. She immediately marched up to her, Irene sitting so calmly and sipping white wine that she’d evidently ordered and that had been poured for Molly as well.

“What on earth did you do to Tom?” Molly demanded to know, and Irene smiled.

“I just told him the Cliffs Notes version of our night together,” she responded, her tone infuriatingly casual. “He ran off in quite the hurry; I think he decided to have some fun by himself to that mental image.” The smile she gave Molly was so self-satisfied that Molly sincerely felt the urge to slap it off of her. She was distracted, however, by Irene nodding to the seat she’d been in before running off to the restroom. “Take a seat, lovely. We can talk so much more freely without your beard here.”

“He is NOT my beard,” Molly instantly protested, even as she sat down as Irene had instructed her to. “He is my fiancé and I don’t see what you can’t understand about that.”

“What I don’t understand is why you’re wasting your potential,” Irene said, her voice cold and clear, smile gone. “He doesn’t deserve you in the slightest. Is that what you really want? A mediocre romance in the missionary position with the lights off every night?”

“He loves me,” Molly said, her voice low and serious. “It’s not about sex, it’s about love, something you can’t give me.”

Irene stared at her for a minute, crimson lips slightly parted as if in shock or offense. “You silly, stupid girl,” she finally said, something much more serious in her words. “Why do you think I came back for you? I had to go to America because I was going to be hunted down and killed here, and I had to completely establish a new life there, I had no other choice. As soon as it became safe for me to come back, I came here. What do you think that is?”

Molly didn’t even know what to say. Could only look at her and blink, eyes wide, and Irene pressed her advantage, sliding her hand to rest on top of Molly’s on the table as she leaned in close. “Be honest with yourself, Molly. You’ll never be as happy in a relationship with that wet blanket of a man as you would be with me. You. Are. A. Queen. And no man will ever treat you as such, not like I will.” She paused, eyes searching Molly’s for a reaction. “You are the only woman that could ever make me beg. Please. I am what you want, and you are what I need. You just have to choose me.”

She felt like her heart was going to stop. Right then, right there, in the middle of her chest. It was a combination of factors, the scientific part of her brain reasoned. Irene’s words + the touch on her hand + memories of that night + their undeniable chemistry + the way her pulse was picking up =

Equaled—

Equaled—

“Yes.”

 

And when Sherlock would mention off the broken engagement later, not explicitly stating the reason, she’d be glad she hit him as hard as she did. After all, she was learning quite quickly how to properly hit people. Irene was such a helpful teacher.


End file.
